


At Death's Door

by Hopeless_Wanderer_Adventures



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Explicit Language, I'm not good at writing im sorry, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Multi, Referenced jonmartin, Sexual Content, Tags May Change, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Male Character, canon-typical spooky nonsense, cheating (kind of?), every Jon i write is trans, i interpret jon as grey-ace, it depends, mag168 made me horny for Oliver Banks, my fic my rules baby, no beta no edits we die like kings, no explicit sex but this fic is mostly making out, or demi, post-episode: ep168 roots, trans author, will add/change tags with updates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:41:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24406720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopeless_Wanderer_Adventures/pseuds/Hopeless_Wanderer_Adventures
Summary: Post mag168: Roots. entertaining the thought of "what if Martin had good reason to be jealous?" Jon comes into contact with one Oliver Banks and has an interesting reunion with the avatar that brought him back. (aka, a shameless excuse for the author to try and write some making out between two eldritch horrors that didn't sign up for this). More JonMartin content (and some drama) in coming chapters!
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Oliver Banks/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Kudos: 30





	At Death's Door

**Author's Note:**

> planning to make this a multi-chapter fic, and I also plan for this to focus more on jonmartin in some later chapters (because Oliver can't have all the fun). please leave a comment if you think I should continue this fic/the direction you want to see this story go in! (I'm not much of a writer so please go easy on me <3) inspired by/based somewhat on some fantastic art done by tatumsdrawing on tumblr!

Jon heaved a deep sigh as the recorder gave it’s tell-tale click, signifying the end of another statement, and Jon settled on the ground with his back pressed to a particularly large root to give himself a moment’s respite before tackling the certainly-headache inducing task of figuring out just  _ how  _ he would tell Martin about his decision to not “smite” the avatar of The End. He groaned to himself at the thought— convincing his partner to not simply take it upon himself to go after the man with a kitchen knife was going to be… interesting, to say the least. Jon didn’t really understand it himself, to be honest; what exactly did Martin even have to be jealous of? It wasn’t as if he even  _ knew  _ the man, much less was interested in him— but well, he supposed he could understand-

His train of thought was abruptly cut off by the sound of someone clearing their throat above him. Jon stilled, snapping his eyes upward, at first expecting to see Martin; but instead, meeting the nearly-black eyes of someone he hadn’t met in consciousness but still recognized easily. 

“Hello, Jon.” his voice was smooth and pleasant, his gaze holding little fear, or even genuine distaste, but more mild interest than anything; like someone observing a strange, pretty insect they had come across on the pavement— intrigued enough to spend a moment watching it, but knowing they could easily crush it under their boot if they so desired. It unnerved him, somehow— made something small in his gut twinge. 

“O-Oliver Banks.” It didn’t surprise Jon that the man could find him so easily— this was his domain, after all— but he certainly didn’t understand why he would want to seek him out. Compulsion buzzed on his tongue, the desire to understand overtaking the flurry of concerns in the back of his mind. “Why did you come find me?” 

A corner of the avatar’s mouth quirked upwards at that, and the way the almost-condescending smirk suited his features made a shutter rooted in something definitely  _ other  _ than fear shoot up his spine. He kneeled down to level with Jon, their faces quite a bit closer than what was necessary. 

“What can I say? I wanted to say hello. Last time I saw you in person, you were practically dead, after all.” he leaned slightly closer as he spoke, a hand coming up to cup Jon’s chin, his thumb brushing his cheek. His hand wasn’t cold, really, but it didn’t feel warm, like a human’s; didn’t feel wholly natural. Jon couldn’t decide if he wanted to press into it or pull away. 

“I think I like you much better this way, you look quite lovely when you blush.” he said it so conversationally, his tone innocent as an angel’s, but his dark eyes betrayed the fact that he knew exactly what he was doing. 

Jon’s breath had caught in his throat. He hadn’t quite noticed how hot his face had gotten already, but that last comment no doubt made his bronze skin flush even darker. He felt like he was short-circuiting when Oliver swung one of his knees to the other side of his lap, effectively straddling him, making it easier to press his face even closer. He couldn’t process any other thoughts aside from how nice Oliver’s features were— high cheekbones, full brows, black hair falling in short, tight coils— and how soft his full lips looked as they moved. Jon hardly registered that the man was speaking to him. 

“Wh- what?” he stammered out, forcing his gaze off of the other man’s mouth and back up to meet his eyes. Oliver couldn’t hide his amusement— or, maybe he wasn’t trying to. 

“I asked if you had come here to kill me.” his tone remained even, as if the question was merely trivial. 

Jon swallowed around a lump in his throat, trying to get the words out. “Well, n-no. I mean— well, I don’t really have a reason to.” he gnawed slightly on his bottom lip, pulling at a slight bit of chapped skin with his teeth. “I suppose I should be— I should be thanking you, really.” 

“Hm.” their lips were so close he couldn’t quite tell if they were touching or not. He wasn’t sure he wanted to push him away anymore— in fact, a small part of his brain wanted him to grab the man’s shirt and pull him closer. “Well…” 

Jon finally released the tension in his shoulders that he didn’t realize he had been holding when Oliver pressed their lips together. 

His first thought was  _ Martin is going to kill me.  _ His second thought was  _ finally.  _

Jon’s back pressed firmer against the root he was leaning against, eyes fluttering shut as Oliver tilted his head and deepened the kiss. He felt the man smile against his lips as a soft noise escaped him, and his arms seemed to move of their own accord as they draped themselves around Oliver’s shoulders.  _ I shouldn’t be doing this,  _ Jon thought, but any inkling of rational thought left his head the moment he felt a strong hand tangle in his curls, tugging his bun loose with a swift pull before twisting to the base of his skull. 

Jon forced himself to break off the kiss with a soft pop, panting softly against Oliver’s lips, his eyes cracking open slowly as if the moment he looked, the man would disappear. Oliver met his eyes, something burning in those near-black irises that sent an unexpected rush of heat between Jon’s thighs. 

_ Well, fuck.  _

Oliver made no move to pull away, but his lips curled into a smug little smile, as if he knew exactly what Jon was thinking. Jon, however, was praying to whatever God that was listening that he wasn’t  _ that  _ easy to read. “Well, Jonathan,” his voice was slightly deeper now, with a husky tone to it that made Jon shudder, “I suppose I can call us even.” 

He didn’t have long to process the implications of that before Oliver was sweeping him up in another kiss, this one with more urgency, more  _ passion.  _ Jon melted into it, any protest dying in his throat as he pushed his rationality to the back of his mind and gave himself over to raw attraction. It was so unfamiliar, feeling this, well,  _ worked up  _ about anyone— other than Martin, and maybe Georgie at one point— and he couldn’t help but drink it all in, not knowing if it was his patron thirsting for the experience, for the new knowledge, or just himself, curious and wanting and  _ hungry.  _ He felt Oliver’s tongue trace along his bottom lip, and he parted his lips easily, his nails digging into the skin beneath Oliver’s shirt. Jon gasped into his mouth when the hand that was resting on his cheek snaked down to slip under the hem of his jumper instead, sliding up his flat stomach, fingers tracing over his ribs and sliding across one of the symmetrical scars resting just below his pecs. 

Jon really couldn’t tell just how long they spent like that, but by the time Oliver pulled away at least, Jon was left with his chest heaving and his lips swollen (and, being honest with himself, desperately wet), an almost pitiful whine leaving him before he could think to stop it. Oliver looked frustratingly composed, but the sheen on his lips and the deep blush on his already dark skin gave away enough. 

“I think it’s about time I let you go. But don’t worry, Jon” —he punctuated his name with a chaste kiss to his lips— “we’ll see each other again soon enough.” 

Jon figured that would sound vaguely threatening if it wasn’t so damn  _ hot.  _ He tried to piece together something—  _ anything—  _ to say in response, but instead he was just left, lips parted and hair messy and certainly looking utterly debauched, as Oliver Banks stood, bending down to place a quick peck on his forehead before turning and walking off, back into his domain. 

Jon dropped his head into his hands with a groan. 

_ What the hell am I going to tell Martin? _


End file.
